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Monday, June 29, 2009

lovely with abandonment,You seem to be swayed by a wand,A dancing serpeant.-Bouldaire

...do you remember who taught you to frenchkiss.

I am going to keep you in the nineties for awhile longer,l have a few more stories to tell.

I use to think that only the young and the old were worth talking to.Those in between too busy, running around like a nosebleedthat won't stop. The young have a power, a magic mystical, untamedand raw, ready to lick the blood from your neck.

"...when the story of the hero's wound is made partof the story of desire, when the weaving activity ofthe soul, the work of memory and imagination, theweaving of one's story, is informed and suffusedwith the hero's violent spiritual flame."

-eileen greagory(summoning the familiar)

I met Sean in the nineties, he came from a program for lost punks.They asked if l would take him in my studio, mentor him l suppose.He came to my studio, hung around, rambled poetic lyrics, and hebrought with him, his family. A family of hooded punks, black cloth,spiked collars, with dreams of a fresh new world. I photographedSean one night, with his girl Claire - here

and he says that he loves me even though its not his baby and he says that he'll raise him uplike he would his own sonand he gave me a ring that was worn by his mother

-tom waits

Sam was pregnant. She was a tad older than the rest, andwith growth in her belly she was somewhat of a guide to them,perhaps she glowed with a secret light.

Christie and Killie, two more beacons that danced quietlythrough this time.

Although they seem to carry a heaviness, they carried your concerns,your burdens, your wishes, they carried what you lay in bed dreaming of.

"a period of rest before the coming"----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Willie Mae... makes me smile thinking of her.

She could make the world smile. An endless flame, a shinning star,the drop of dew on a blade of grass. She had cancer, they tookher leg off at the knee.

She would come to my studio now and then, help me with thepainting. I told her to write something on the painting. Shefound a quote on my wall and wrote that;

"the ocean doesn't want me today,but l'll be back tomorrow to play"-tom waits

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Char- I lived in a little shack in Parksville and beside that shackwas a wood shop of some sort. I would see her drive up on herbike. Loud , maybe a harley, clad in the blackest leather. I didn'tknow if she was boy or girl. I couldn't tell but l wanted to photographher. So one day l ran into her and with the flapping of wings in mytummy l asked her. "Can l photograph you"Slammed against the wall, one hand on my throat, a fist to the groin.Well that is what l expected, but no, yes, out came this beautifulsweetness, "why yes darling, that would be nice"

I photographed her at night in my studio, we talked for hours.Her life in a small town, it was hard for her, being gay in this town,being inside a body that she wanted to change.

Am l lucky to have met these people, damn right.They all burned, burned with a fire, a fire that was true and deep.

But you know...it's there,in you, in all of us.

"How many years agoWere you and l unlettered ladsMad as the mist and snow"

Saturday, June 06, 2009

the silence of the dead comes nearer to it,being wisest in the end. What word shallhold the sorrow sitting at the heart of things.The majesty and patience of the truth.Silence will serve; it is an older tongue:The empty room, the moonlight on the wall.Speak for the unreturning traveller.-john hall wheelock

For a handful of years in the nineties l worked with peoplewho needed assistance. The first job was in a woodworkingday program. I loved that job. A group of men, a pile of tools,we made picnic tables, doll houses, and little wooden nicknacksthat have probably ended up inthrift stores. My favorite personwas Bob, Bob couldn'tspeak but knew a few signs. One of themwas "fish",which we all practiced because he could sort of say theword. The sign was wiggling your hand back and forth,like asnake, or like a belly dancer on her side.Then l worked in thesemi independant living program,these guys lived on their ownand l was there to offer assistance with, well you know, life skills.

Kevin...I liked kevin, he was funny and he seemed to enjoy my company.My boss always seemed more concerned about kevin's hygene, andwhether or not his dishes were done, but l kind of felt it moreimportant to go fishing. We would drive up the old northwestbay logging road, a secret little lake that made you feel holy. Wewould cast off of shore, worms and bobbins, catching fist size trout.Keving was stubborn, when they discovered that he had diabetes,well it was very rough on him. FIfty years of drinking soda pop andlicking dairy's cone and suddenly your suppose to eat like a bunny, itwas tough. A couple years later, riding his bike on a beautiful sunnyday, Kevin suffered a heart attack and died.

Lori...Lori was tough, strong and would always help you if you needed.He liked to collect things, lots of things, bikes, cars, radio's, tv's, anything you could take apart, he was like the guy from "back to thefuture". Lori had an unkemptness to him that was appealing. Oneyear l offered him a shed in my yard, "a place to store a few things",It didn't take long...he filled it to the roof, he circled the shed withbroken cars, and late at night, when even the owls close their eyes, lwould sometimes hear loud voices. I thought maybe Orson Welles wasright and it was the war of the worlds but no it was just Lori and hiscoat hanger wrapped cracklin radio.

I also worked with the beautiful Hugh and have writtenabout him before, here...

"Sexual intimacy begins with acknowledgment of and respect forthe mystery and madness of the others sexuality, for it is onlyin mystery and madness that soul is revealed."-t.moore

Brenda and Alan...Like two different flowers, on two different seasons, one open, one closed.

Alan is fast, quick, they use to call him "speedy". He had spentsome time at Tranquille before they closed down, and like any biginstitution, it probably left a imprint. Brenda was softer, slower,steadier perhaps, they made a good pair.

...now you can whip me or love me, l've battled it in my head,but there is no right, no wrong.Brenda and Alan trusted me, they invited me in, l wanted toacknowledge this, to acknowledge their intimacy, their love...